Today’s journey will take us to Pueblano
Camp. The
five and a half mile hike, most of which would be downhill, would take
us by ruins of building left behind years ago. It should be an easy
hike.
Easy, that is, if the burro would cooperate. That’s
right, a burro. We were to be assigned a burro for toady and tomorrow.
If we got to the corral on time. We were supposed to be at the corral
at
eight o’clock in the morning. We arrived five minutes late, but in did
not matter. The other crew that was to also get a burro had not arrived
yet.
So we waited.
During out wait we discovered how well burros
enjoyed
eating those notorious meal bars that kept appearing with each of our
meals.We
had come to the conclusion that the bars were unfit for human
consumption.
The burros loved them, however. We had our packs empty of the bars
within
just a few minutes.
By eight-thirty the rancher had had enough of
waiting
for the other crew to show up and decided to get us started with what
needed
to be done. He had crew chief Jeff choose two other members of the
crew.
Jeff chose Gerry and Robert. The four of them then went into the corral
to catch a burro. There was one slight problem. The burro did not cooperate in letting
themselves be caught. It took the four of them five hilarious minutes
to
finally corner one. It had done everything it could think of, except
for
kicking, to keep itself from getting caught. After putting a bridle on
it they led it out of the corral.
A second problem developed. This burro wanted
nothing
to do with having a pack put on its back. The rancher attempted several
times to place the pack but to no avail. The burro would not stand for
it. Finally, the rancher grabbed the bit and roughly yanked the animal
back to the corral. As he tied the stubborn critter tightly to a post
he
muttered something about some pack work needing to be done later.
Jeff, Robert, and Gerry once again headed into the
corral for a second chance at rounding up us a pack animal. It did not
take them more then a couple of minutes for them to round up burro
number
thirty-two. Almost immediately he was nicknamed “Honcho”, after the
notorious
Honcho Brothers.

Let me explain about the Honcho Brothers. There
were three of them. There real names names were Jeff, Scott, and
Robert.
Why these three? Because Jeff and Scott, who had taken Spanish during
the
school year, could only remember the Spanish equivalent of their names.
I am sure it had nothing to do with the fact that the three of them had
known each other since they where little kids.
It was a nearly exclusive club to which only those three members
belonged.
Well, they did recruit two more members during the trek. The first was
the dying chipmunk that Robert had picked up as we entered Bear Canyon.
The second was this burro. It kind of made us wonder my only animals
were
allowed into the group. Was there some hidden meaning to this?
Anyway, Honcho became the burro’s name, but that
did not stop Scott and me from trying to come up with other names. I
suggested
we call him Jack. Scott came up with Burro Ives.
Honcho did not care what we called him. He just
carried our gear and gave us very little trouble that day. He only
stopped
occasionally to get a mouthful of grass.
Considering the the “brothers” had adopted Honcho
into their private club, but would not let any other humans into it, I
saw no reason why Honcho should not be the responsibility of the Honcho
Brothers. They were given the duty of leading the burro to our next
camp.
Gerry, Brian, and walked walked a little ahead of them and discussed
advancement
and the troop’s plans for the upcoming yearly planning session.
The trail to Pueblano Camp as fairly easy going,
partially due to the lighter packs we carried now that Honcho was part
of the crew. Once we arrived at Pueblano the burro was placed in the
corral
and fed. Then we were lead to our campsite for the evening.
The program at Pueblano was geared around the
lumberjack
theme. Scouts could participate in activities that included spar
climbing,
timber cutting, and log rolling.
Gerry and Brian tried their luck at log rolling.
The little pond was just big enough for two people to try standing on
the
logs and not get in each other’s way too much. Scott and I moved around
the pond trying to get the best falls and splashes on film.

Later that afternoon we gave spar climbing a try.
We received instruction on the proper use of the gear and how to climb
safely. Our instructor informed us that when we got to the top of the
spar
we had to give “Carrie Beaner” a kiss to show our appreciation for her
help. We were also to yell something that would let everyone know we
had
made it to the top. We could yell our troop or contingent number, or
say
“Hi Mom!”. Just as long as it was a positive comment. So we were all
quite
surprised when Gerry reached the top of his spar and yelled, “Honcho
sucks!”
Our instructor and I both were not pleased with his comment.
Not all of us had time to climb.As the daily rain
shower began they they closed the spar climbing area for safety
reasons,
know as lightning. We went back to camp and used the time to catching
up
on reading or letter writing. Jeff and Robert made the best use of time
by catching forty winks. As usual the storm did not last long.
Pueblano was well known for its campfire program.
From what we had heard from other campers it was not one to miss. So,
shorty
before the program was to begin that evening the crews gathered at the
lodge. The staff would lead us to the campfire ring.
As we waited the Scouts talked with other crew
members.
The adults formed a group of their own next to them. I was standing a
few
feet from my crew and could overhear some of what was being discussed
by
them. I heard that one of the Pennsylvania Scouts, a dark haired boy
that
wore glasses, was a member of an underground heavy metal rock band. The
Scouts were coaxing him into signing one of his songs. He tried to give
them the brush of but they were persistent.
When he finally did sing a bit for them it was a
song that had very unscoutlike lyrics. Some of the lyrics contained the
words, “Die fag, die. Die, die, die fag.” I think this boy needed a bit
more help then what the Scouting program would be able to provide.

The staff arrived and we followed them to the fire
ring. Enthusiasm was high. For many of us it was our last night on the
trail and we were ready to make the most of it. We sat down. The staff
warmed up. The campfire program began.
The program was hilarious! The four staff members
took turns telling us parts of the Philmont story. As one tried to
speak
to us the other three would heckle him and give him a bad time. They
would
change the words just said by the narrator and change the meaning of
that
part of the story completely. A painter’s easel would become a giant
weasel.
A small band of outlaws became the Ketchup Gang. Several of us had side
aches and a few shed a few tears from all the laughing we did by the
time
the story was completed.
That evening my crew members presented me with an
award they had made. They had taken one of the donuts from the log
cutting
area, added several pieces of rope that had been tied into various
knots,
and carved the words “Philmont’s Greatest Adviser” into it with a
pocket
knife. It was impressive and a nice way to end the day.

August 15

Today is our last day on the trail. There
are two
things that need to be accomplished today. The first is to do our
conservation
work. The second is to make sure we are at the Ponil Camp when the bus
arrives to take us back to Tent City.
The morning was quite chilly so we decided to eat
breakfast in our tents. Then we packed things away, loaded up the
burro,
and headed out. We left early since we had a seven mile hike ahead of
us.
The hike went very well. The only trouble we had was when the burro
decided that it was time for a rest stop. No one complained too much. I
think we all appreciated a little time out. But I have to tell you,
this
trek really got us into shape. The seven miles went quickly. We were
not
even tired as we arrived at Ponil. Even Gerry was doing well. I thought
back to the first day when we had found the first mile and a half to be
tiring.
The hike had gone so well that we arrived at Ponil
ahead of schedule. The bus that would take us back to Tent city would
not
arrive for us until that afternoon. In the meantime we explored Ponil
Camp
and played cards in the cantina which was next to the trading post. I
might
mention that we took it easy on the sarsaparilla this time.
We had one thing left to do before we left on the
bus, the conservation project. It was a short walk of a half mile north
of Ponil to get to the site. The project was simple enough. We had to
work
on a stretch of new trail that would be used by next year’s crews.
Things
were going fine until Jeff caught his finger between a rock and a hard
place, literally. The project supervisor took him to the nearest first
aid kit to bandage the bleeding digit. The rest of us continued to work
on the trail until they got back.

We still had some time to waste when we arrived
back at Ponil, but it passed quickly. While riding the bus back to base
camp we saw the famous Philmont buffalo herd out in the flatlands.
It was nice to get back to what little civilization
Tent City had to offer. We checked in, found our tents, and began
unpacking.
We had clothes to wash, gear to return, and supper to eat. We gathered
our clothes and somewhat sorted the piles into smaller laundry piles.
Jeff
and Scott put them into the wash machines. Unfortunately, the clothes
would
not be done before supper was served in the dinning hall. After some
discussion
I volunteered to stay with the laundry while the crew went to grab a
bite
to eat. “Hurry back,” I yelled as they left.
As the Scouts arrived at the dining hall they became
aware of how filthy they were. They were still wearing the trail
clothes
they had on when we arrived at camp. No one had taken the time to clean
up and shower yet. The other Scouts at the dining hall were neat and
clean
and in their uniforms. Needless to say, my crew felt a little out of
place.
Meanwhile, I was watching the dryers and wondering
what was taking them so long. I watched as the line into the dining
hall
became smaller and smaller, finally vanishing into the building. The
Scouts
did get back in time for me to get served some food. Surprisingly, I
was
not the last one. Several others joined the line after I did.

When we brought our gear back to be checked out
everything went fine until we hung our tents up to be inspected. Inside
the tent that Gerry and Scott had used were a couple of food wrappers
from
breakfast that morning. Wow, were the check-in staff upset with us.
They
chewed me out and kept ranting and raving about how the tents would
have
to be cleaned to get the food smell out of them. And that how, if that
didn’t work, the tents would be totally unusable for camping in the
mountains,
what with the bears and other animals.
I could understand their concern But this was
carrying
things too far. Yes, we had made a mistake, but it wasn’t something we
should be for which we should be tarred and feathered. I was getting
upset
myself at the way the staff was treating us, but I kept quiet because I
knew that getting in a shouting match would not help the situation. In
fact, seeing the type of mood the staff was in I felt it would only
make
matters worse if I did lose my temper.
I told the crew what had happened when I arrived
back at our tents. Then, after we got cleaned up and showered, I wrote
a letter to the camp director explaining my feeling on how I felt we
wear
treated when we checked in our gear. I also mentioned that this was the
only bad incident of our trek, that we had had an excellent time at
Philmont,
and hoped to come back in a few years.
That evening the crews that would be leaving the
next day meet for a fantastic closing campfire program led by the base
camp staff. We sang great roaring songs, heard some hilarious stories,
and had a special ceremony during which all the crew leaders and the
head
crew advisers were called up to stand in front of the crowd. The crew
leaders
brought along the United States flag with them that they had carried
throughout
their trek. The crew leaders presented the flag to the crew adviser as
a memento of the adventure. I accepted the flag from Jeff with a lot of
pride.

By the way, Gerry traded a patch that evening
outside
of the snack bar. He was watching the patch trading that went on every
night at Philmont base camp when someone asked him if he would be
willing
to trade his Naguonabe Lodge Order of the Arrow patch that he wore on
his
uniform pocket flap. He asked me for my advise. I told him that our
lodge
does not approve of trading the patches of the lodge, and thus were
more
valuable to patch collectors. They were hard to get outside of the
lodge.
Also, at the time, our lodge had a patch limit of two patches per
member,
and that was it. I left the decision to him though. It was his patch
after
all.
Gerry decided to see what the trader would offer
for the patch. The two young men chatted for a while and discussed
several
patches before Gerry decided to trade his lodge flap for three others
patches
from the trader. He gave me a quick glance to see if he had my
approval.
I just shrugged my shoulders. He showed me the patches he received in
the
trade. They were nice looking patches.

August 16 and 17

Today we leave Philmont Scout Ranch. The
only things
we needed to do this morning were to eat breakfast, pack our gear, and
finish the paperwork for checking out. As we were given the bill for
cleaning
the tents I gave them the letter I had wrote.
The bus ride to the Amtrak station was bumpy and
boring. We had some time to wait before the train arrived so we
explored
downtown Raton and stocked up on snacks for the trip home. The train
had
plenty of room on it this time. We did not care though. We slept during
most of the journey.
Mike Hegle and Gerry Wensmann were waiting for us when we arrived in
Chicago. The Wensmann’s were going on a trip so they decided to pick
Gerry
up at the station. The rest of us drove home with Mike. We stopped at a
McDonald’s to eat, which really is nothing noteworthy except that the
restaurant
was built over the interstate.
During the middle of the night I noticed that Mike
was growing tired so I offered to drive for a while. Mike pulled the
car
off the road and we traded places. It did not take long though before I
began to tire also, even though I had caught some sleep on the
train.
My eyelids were growing heavier and heavier. I had thought that Mike
was
sleeping but he knew, or sensed, that I was getting pretty sleepy
myself.
(Maybe it was those few times I had crossed the line and was driving
half
way on the shoulder that gave it away.) He offered to take the wheel
again,
much to my relief. I did not know how much longer I would have lasted.
It was great to arrive back in Melrose. Now I could
worry about work, paying bills, and all the other things that came
along
with being back home again.
It almost made me wish I could turn around and go
back to Philmont.
Almost.
I do plan to go back again to Philmont someday
though.
You can bet your hiking boots on that!